Into the Mind of a Serial Killer
by JessiCAT1989
Summary: Have you ever wondered how a murderer thinks? Why they kill? If they truly enjoy it, or if they can even control themselves? Profound psychologist Arthur has. Let him take you on a journey of malice and murder as you discover some truths about these individuals...Rated for violence, graphic scenes, and language.
1. Prologue

Um...so, I came up with a new story idea that I hope you guys like.

Now, I'm going to warn you. This is a lot more messed up than my other stories. This is going into the mind of a serial killer, so there's going to be a ton of graphic details in here. Some that some readers should stay away from.

On another note, its pretty disturbing, so if you're easily freaked out, I would advise you to not read. Definitely don't want to scar anyone for life...

...

Still here? I'm impressed!

Anyway, so, this is just the prologue, so that's why its so short. I wanted to give you a good hook to get started.

Disclaimer-I do not own Hetalia.

Enjoy, guys. Let me know what you think.

...

_Blood..._

_So much blood..._

_I can't recall a time I had ever seen so much in my life. It coated the walls, the floor. Some had even reached the sterile white ceiling in splotches. _

_As my trail of vision swept over the crimson substance, I witnessed the bodies cut into pieces on the floor. Some had been mutilated beyond recognition. My body began to tremble, wondering if I would end up just like these poor souls. _

_..._

_That is, until I found the bloodied saw clutched in my hand..._


	2. Burning Corpse

_All right, guys. Back with another chapter. Now, like I said in the description, this story is definitely not meant to be read by everyone. It is slightly disturbing. If you don't like depictions of gory murders, or creepy stuff, don't read. For real. _

_Anyway, I guess I'll let you go ahead and give it a read. See if you might like it. _

_Disclaimer-I don't own Hetalia. _

_..._

I wanted to watch him die. I wanted to have a front row seat as I watched the life flow from his body. To watch as the blood poured from fresh wounds, escaping as if it was ashamed it had ever been a part of him.

The lust in my mind was so overpowering, it was all I could do not to stab at him again. If I did that, how would I be able to drag this out as long as possible? The bloke still had some color left in his face, so I knew there was time yet to watch as he stared into my eyes, fear staining their perfect brown. I could tell what he was thinking in that moment. "Why me?" That simple question was written all over my victims' faces. In some aspects, it appeased me greatly to see them so afraid of me. In others, it just enraged me further.

My gaze fell on the blade I held in my hand. It was number seven of my tools. I gave the metal a lick, clearing some of the blood away. I saw from my peripheral vision, the man flinch at this action. Luckily, he didn't try to cry out anymore. Not that he could I guess...I had learned the hard way, the first thing that had to go was the tongue. And while I did enjoy the sounds of someone choking for breath as I gagged them, my thirst for blood was moreso quenched with this new technique.

The dark-haired man below me began to sputter slightly, blood leaking from his mouth. Apparently the poor sap had forgotten to keep it open. He had almost drowned in his own blood. And I couldn't have that, now could I?

I leaned forward, earning me another terrified glance. To keep his eyes on me, I reached around, and cupped his head with my free hand. "Now, now...I can't have you dying that quickly on me, can I?"

When he made no move to respond, I jerked his head from side to side with my hand still supporting it.

"That's what I thought...You and I still have some time to play, don't we?" Again, I moved his head to answer my question. This time in a nod.

My hand reached into the bag I had brought with me. When I had grasped the item I was looking for, I drug it out, displaying the bottle of rubbing alcohol. The terrified man could only watch as I unscrewed the cap, and played with the bottle absentmindedly. From his expression, I could see he was confused as to what I would need the substance for. As I always did, I explained my reasoning. Watching as they visibly cowered listening to my plans for them really seemed to satisfy me somehow.

"This is my favorite part...Do you want to know what I plan on doing with this?"

He didn't respond. Possibly too afraid to move.

"Well, I will tell you anyway...You see, this has an unpleasant burning sensation when placed upon a cut, or a scrape. However..." I paused as I brought the bottle to float over the bloated stomach of my victim, pouring the liquid into the places where I had plunged the knife through skin. He immediately began to thrash, and make awful gutteral noises. "When poured into deeper wounds, the feeling of pain is almost too much to bear."

I let out an appreciative chuckle as I watched him struggle against the ropes I had used to bound his arms and legs. Poor chap really thought there was a chance to escape still...

My eyes fell to the watch placed around my wrist. I rolled my eyes, noting how late it had become. I knew soon I would need to return home, so that Alfred wouldn't wake in his absence. That would certainly demand some sort of explanation I would rather not have to conjure up.

I turned my attention to the dying man, noting how he still jerked this way and that. Without another word, I raised the knife again. Emerald eyes met murky brown as I plunged the blade into his throat, twisting it, so as to earn me some sort of gratificaton for my grand finale.

The stranger's eyes widened in shock, as well as pain. Then, rather rapidly rolled back into his head.

...

The cleanup was the most disinteresting part. Sometimes, I would chop the body into bits, and throw it into a lake. Other times, I would bury it out in the forest, never to be found again. But now, my least favorite of body disposal, I waited as the fire engulfed the formerly living man.

This...this by far was one of my favorite killings. This man was Theodore Clarke. A man who had been suspected of kidnapping, and murdering young boys. I knew the speculation was indeed fact, as I had witnessed him luring a boy the age of ten into his dirty van. I knew then, that I had obtained my next target.

I suppose you can say I grew up somewhat odd. Though, my family was relatively normal, my mother had married a man a few years after my father's death. At first, he seemed a proper gentleman. However, after several weeks of adjusting to his new family, my stepfather started up a routine of beatings for my mother and I. It seemed Luke had a short temper, and he intended to use it on anyone relatively close to him.

I began to feel an insatiable hatred for that man. Sometimes, I would watch him as he slept, plotting my revenge. It never came, though. For after a couple years of marriage, Luke died in his sleep, suffering a brain aneurysm. My mother for some reason, blamed herself, declaring she had driven him to insanity with her feeble ways. Little did my mother know, Luke had not been the one to worry over.

I began to notice a side of me, that seemed to appear first when I reached high school age. I became fascinated with human organs. Sometimes, I would go so far as to cut open rats I would find scurrying the street, staring at their insides.

I was mid-way through my third year in high school when my mother died. When I had returned from school, I found my mother lying in a pool of her own vomit, empty bottles of prescription pills surrounding her lifeless form. For some reason, her death seemed an odd relief to me. The woman had been a mess dealing with her depression. I had grown tired of caring for her. In addition, it also gave me the freedom to explore a new hobby I realized I had a hankering for.

A few months after I buried my mother, I snuffed out my first life. It was a fellow classmate of mine. One that had made it his mission in life to make my high school career miserable. I killed him with a simple broom, by stuffing it down his throat. A few more in my grade fell to the same fate. However, after a while, a part of me began to loathe what I had become. I had turned into a monster. One with no remorse. That's when I came up with a new idea. One that would allow me to continue in my killings.

By the time I had reached college age, I began reading the newspaper to see what criminals I could find. That is when I found fellow murderers, such as myself. Only these were much more wicked. These men would abduct children, and slay them in horrific ways. That was when I knew I had found my solution to my problem.

Now, here I stood on the verge of thirty years old. I had managed to kill a total of seventy people in my life. Something no one who ever came in contact with me would ever be able to imagine.

I watched as the last bit of visible flesh was charred, turning into black ash as it became one with the ground. I had done the world a favor by ridding it of this monster. Just like the many others.

I took one last puff of the cigar I had been smoking, and tossed it into the remaining embers. Then, I turned and left...

I was on my way back into the city to blend in with the rest of the bar hoppers. My favorite habit after a late night murder.

And, just perhaps, I might find my next target there.

...


End file.
